


Reality Check

by Celestriakle, rychuu



Category: NiGHTS into Dreams, ナイツ 〜星降る夜の物語〜 | NiGHTS: Journey of Dreams (Video Game)
Genre: Eye Trauma, Homelessness, M/M, Medical Trauma
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-06-18
Updated: 2013-08-07
Packaged: 2019-12-26 03:34:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 7,279
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18274940
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Celestriakle/pseuds/Celestriakle, https://archiveofourown.org/users/rychuu/pseuds/rychuu
Summary: A curse upon Wizeman forces him back into the human he once was, but there is more than one soul lost within the nightmare god, and they must work together to find their way back to the throne. [Abandoned]





	1. Shameful Vacation

 

Wizeman couldn’t let anyone see him like this. This, was an absolute disgrace…

Him… As a Visitor…

…

He couldn’t let anyone know the truth.

Quietly, the deity looked outside of his chambers, peeking out with his new visitor eyes to assure himself no one was around. Squinting, he cursed under his breath for not acquiring his mobile eyes; at least that would have been slightly more convenient… 

Silently, he managed to escape the clutches of nightmare and sighed. He knew this was a terrible risk. However, it was the up-most importance that he was not seen. Being seen in this form would cause controversy… And that was a deadly thing on it’s own.

Oh well. A little more work to do when this lucid spell wore off. Nothing he couldn’t handle.

But…

What to do for five days…

He had the sudden realization that he had no ideas as to how to occupy himself while he took this little.. “Vacation.”

Well, he could always torment visitors. That was a start. Productive, too.

So with that, he huffed and walked over to the center of the Dream gate, debating on which door to take…

 

 


	2. Fracture

The headaches were getting worse. His brisk pace slowed to a stop, and Wizeman leaned against a tree and groaned. He was slipping. He could feel it. He could scarcely think straight; his skin felt too small for his bodies.

He slid down the tree, only to glare up at the cherry blossom petals now above him. They were picture perfect. Disgusting. He would have to make note to–he groaned again, tossing his head between his knees and tearing his hand up through his hair. It was difficult to resist the urge to dig his nails into his scalp.

He had been doing so well, too: He had quite the collection of Ideya with him, and thus far, no one had recognized him. His other ‘marens, at least, were smart: The moment they realized he was a Lucid, they left him be.

But it was getting harder. He couldn’t focus. The thoughts weren’t coming, and his vision was blurring. He looked at his left hand, which wavered in his eyes. It looked like he had three, but that was right, wasn’t it? Or was it? He didn’t know anymore. It too joined the hand(s?) on his head, and a feeble whimper fell from his lips.

He didn’t notice when his skin began to crack.

It started small, a fracture, like pottery, upon his hand. Then another one that shone upon his boot. Brilliant white light spilled out from these cracks, and they quickly began to grow. More appeared on his body and grew, and his eyes shot open.

No!

NO!

NO!

In a flash of light, he exploded.

_______________________________

Cyrus was flung to the left and bounced twice before he came to a stop. For a few moments, he was still. Slowly, he pushed himself up. The first thing he became aware of was the silence in his head. For the first time in countless years, he was alone. No other voices, no other presences. Just him and his own thoughts. The others… He looked up. They were flung nearby. At least the pain had stopped.

He moved to stand, but before he could even get his feet under him, he froze, staring down at his body. He had his second realization, and he brought his trembling hands before him. “My hands.” Indeed, they were.With a series of sudden, jerky movements, he examined himself, the scars that peppered his arms, the red tartan boxers, the scar on his left side between his two ribs, the cornflower blue robe, the long black hair, the pale skin and thin limbs, yes, yes, it was all there. He was all there.

“No,” he whispered.

The lost lucid brought those trembling hands into his chest, shortly followed by his knees.  He remembered this body. He remembered tearing it apart. He remembered the hatred, the fury he felt on that night, so long ago–it hadn’t faded. How dare they. He may have lost his new form, the one that marked his freedom from the shackles of this world, but that did not mean he was going to stand the indignation of being forced back into this one. He stood up with a jerk, and his brown eyes turned purple as he began to consider what sort of… improvements he could make…

_______________________________

Flung to the right was the body of a man, his body scrapped against the ground before he came to a halt. Gagging, the man quickly wrapped his hands around his throat and wheezed. He wasn’t used to being flung around out of his own vessel like that. He didn’t notice the others at first, and only paid mind to his inability to breathe.

Once he caught onto his breath, he propped himself up on his knees and elbows and shuddered. He remembered this body. Hadn’t he given it up all of those years ago? Where did it come from? How was it back? Not that he minded; he was the only one who had no hatred for it; A mess of black, curly hair, olive skin, strong limbs, torn clothes… He sat up and examined his hands, frowning at the marks he held on his wrists. Suddenly, he was reminded of why he gave it up in the first place, and a wave of despair washed over him as he brought his hand to his neck. Tracing his fingers over the mark that wrapped around it, he secretly longed for the vessel that he shared with the others… He’d much rather forget about these horrid marks and take the voices any day.

Though that brought up the question; what happened to the vessel? Hazel eyes scanned over to where it once was, and with it’s absence, groaned louder. It was then the full realization hit; the fragments were separated. The man hesitated for a moment before placing a hand on his head. That’s right. He knew it was too small and that it would give-way soon… Why hadn’t the others listened to him? Shaking his head, he decided to speak;

“Well, that was quite entertaining, was it not?” He forced out a grin. “I no longer need to torment myself with your foolish voices. Ha! The silence!” Though his voice mocked, his expression declared otherwise. He knew this wasn’t going to end well…

_______________________________

Flung straight ahead of the cherry tree was the final fragment; the body of a boy, no older than the age of eight. Unlike the other two, he tried to land on his feet when he was sent flying, however was unable to obtain his balance, and effectively did a backwards somersault. With a bang of his head, the child yelped and whined, drawing in his limbs and holding his head as he trembled. So much for a release from the agonizing headaches…

As soon as the boy opened his eyes, however, he shrieked. Desperately, he waved his hand in front of his eyes, snapping his fingers and clapping to try to fix what had been broken. After a few moments of failure, the boy’s face flustered red and he screamed. Without hesitation, the boy dug his fingers into his eyes sockets, and ripped from them his eyes. 

He threw the disgraced slime balls onto the ground before attempting to stomp on them, not paying any mind to the other two elder fragments and their remarks.

The man watched the child as he tore out his eyes and stomped on them, shaking his head slightly at the child’s fury. Being reminded of that anger, he was suddenly relieved to see those marks upon is wrists again. With a quick flick of his wrist, he spawned from thin air two new eyes with purple irises. 

“Child, cease with your fit. Here,” The eyes began to float from the man’s hand over to the angered child. “Take these, and you will see once more.”

The boy stopped froze at the words, turning his head and frowning at where the voice was directed from. However, instead of protesting, he held out his hands.

With a soft smile, the man flicked his wrist once more, and the new pair of eyes dropped into the child’s hands.  The boy held the two spheres in his hands, rubbing his thumbs over them to observe their texture… Soon, however, he slowly brought the new pair of eyes to his eye sockets, and popped them inside. He let his lucidity do the rest of the work, attaching the nerves to his eyes as colors were finally being registered.

The boy looked at his hands, almost a bit baffled to find that they were a metallic silver color. In fact, all of his skin, he noticed, was this reflective color. His attire was a sort of ancient Greek robe that signified a high status. His hair was black and straight, and upon his head, two disfigured silver horns broke through. With a huff, he turned to face the other two, sneering at them. “The Vessel shattered.”

This made the eldest snort. “No, you think?”

The boy growled, and spotted one of his faulty eyes. He quickly stomped upon it. “I despise Lucids.”

“The are quite a bothersome bunch, aren’t they?” The man grinned. “Then again, are you not one of them, Theos~?”

The boy snarled, conjuring a stone in his hand and violently throwing it at the elder, whom simply caught it with a frown.

“As are you, Richard.” Theos hissed. “You’re the worst sort of lucid I have ever come across. Arrogant, cowardly, and quite idiotic.” He did not return the playful grin Richard gave. “Give me a good reason why I shouldn’t rip you to pieces right now.”

“Shut up,” Cyrus snapped, half-turning to the pair. They had already lost one body today; they didn’t need to lose another.

 


	3. Awakened

Hazel eyes shot open, and with a gasp, the first breath of the mucky city air—Or, was it just the humidity? He gagged from the smell, and sat up straight. The first thing he noticed was how hyper aware he was of his senses; he heard strange horn-like sounds and hissing and barking from cats and dogs. Groaning, he sat up and observed his surroundings... Grey. There was a lot of grey. He moved his hand slightly, and noticed that it touched upon a child's head. Recoiling, he turned to observe his child... A young boy, barely over the age of eight. Something about him seemed... Familiar... His clothes gave it away. _Theos..?_

The sour stench of garbage made Cyrus groan as he awoke, peeling his face from the cold metal of the dumpster he leaned on. There was a fog, a murkiness in his brain that he hadn't felt in a long time. What had happened? He rubbed at his eyes as he tried to remember... Awakers. He and the others had been taken by Awakers. He froze. A chill crept into his bones, one not even the warm morning air could touch, and slowly, he lowered his hand. Was he... awake? _Alive?_ He put a hand to his chest and felt his beating heart; he looked up across the alley to greet two faces he recognized, but only from a dream. Focus caused no change in this world. His wishes carried no weight. He was alive, and he was powerless. His breath quickened. His heart pounded. His weight shifted, and he leaned on his free hand. Decades spent as a god, and now he was very, terrifyingly human.

Movement came from across the ally, and Richard suddenly turned to face the teen. "C-Cyrus..?" The boy's frightened gaze shot up at the sound of the name, but soon fell again. Hadn't he turned himself into a... Well, Richard didn't know what it was exactly. He knew that the other was human again, and with his expression darkening, he became worried. He had a feeling that this wasn't nightopia anymore.

Cyrus gasped a bit as a fluttering began in his chest, and a shadow of rage passed across his face as he realized he was still damaged goods; if there was any assurance that he had been returned to human form, he thought with a sneer, this was it. The hand on his chest pressed a little harder; he needed to calm down, and now, before this simple arrhythmia worsened.

Meanwhile, slowly, Richard got up onto his feet, a little wobbly, but still doable. He noticed that his attire was... Less than satisfactory for the modern day public. And, like Cyrus, his wishes to change such did not come true. He, too, was powerless... And, quite famished. Beside him, the child moaned, still asleep. It didn't seem like he was going to wake up for another few minutes. Richard looked again to the teen. "Cyrus... Are... are we..?"

Mutely, Cyrus nodded in answer to Richard's question—causing the other's eyes to widen—then leaned back on the wall behind him, closed his eyes, and took a deep breath. One, two, three. Exhale. Inhale. Wait. Exhale. Repeat. Repeat. He banished all thoughts of his current situation as best as he could and focused on his breathing. Repeat. His expression cleared. Repeat. The fluttering began to flicker in and out.

Richard knew little of Cyrus's medical condition, but he knew enough to see the signs of it acting up. First thing first, to make sure the other teen was alright. Slowly, he made his way over to him and silently offered his hand.

It was the first thing Cyrus saw when he dared to open his eyes. He shook his head. "I'm fine," he muttered, letting his hand slip from his chest down into his lap. He hoped it was true, or at least as true as it could be given his current situation. The arrhythmia felt like it was gone, but he knew if he got worked up again it could and likely would return. For the moment, he wanted nothing more than to sit and not move. The world could wait. He tried not to think too hard about what that meant.

With a sigh, Richard let his hand fall to his side. "Do not over strain yourself, Cyrus. If you are in need of help, do not hesitate to ask." He seemed genuinely concerned for the other fragment and his well being.

The set of phrases were familiar, though perhaps it was new to have them coming out of Richard's mouth, and Cyrus's answer to them was the same: "I know. I will." He had no desire to greet death again, especially not while human. There was no guarantee he would escape it if they came face-to-face again, and who knew what the ramifications would be for his dream world. His gaze drifted past Richard to where Theos still slept. "Make sure he doesn't tear his eyes out again when he wakes up."

Looking over to Theos, Richard merely scoffed. "He would do that, would he not?" He shook his head. "I am surprised he is not awake yet..." Concern wavered in his voice as he walked over to the sleeping child. Cyrus simply nodded to what Richard had to say; he wouldn't be surprised to see Theos act so rashly, but he wasn't concerned. It helped to have seen him minutes ago and know exactly what the hold-up was. Sitting down beside him, Richard gently lifted the boy up into his arms, only go get a few moans in protest. "He is fighting them with all of his might, is he not?" He gave an endearing smile. "He certainly has a lot of spirit."

"He must be swarmed by now," Cyrus agreed.

Theos whined a bit in his slumber, his expression twisted and strained. Richard gave a soft nod. "He is doing a lot better than us, that is for sure." However, there was a subtle, but sudden jerk that came from the boy's arms. "... Though, I think he will be joining us soon."

"No one can avoid them forever."

Richard wasn't far off; eventually, even Theos was captured by the swarm of Awakers and his eyes fluttered open. With a groan, he suddenly was hyper aware of the cloth on his body, and the strong arms that were holding him. The warmth that radiated from the person—he thought the person to be a man—distracted him momentarily from the inevitable. Theos felt one of the arms move and a hand grab his wrists, startling him. He could hear the man's voice whispering his name, however it wasn't registered; his lack of vision finally kicked in, and he shrieked.

Richard was surprised to find that the boy had a bit of physical strength to him; however, he maintained a hold on him easily. "Theos—Theos, please, calm down—!" The thrashing about and screams were bringing the trio unwanted attention from passing citizens.

Watching the struggle, Cyrus suddenly became very thankful that Richard held him like he did. Who knows what Theos might have done if allowed to roam free? Those screams, though, made him cringe, anxiously glancing out to the entrance of the alley.

"Relax, please—throwing a fit will not do you any good here, nor will ripping out your eyes!" Richard said. Theos growled, still struggling and whining, but significantly less so than before. "We are not gods in the world of waking." It was this that called Theos out from the pits of his wrath, and he calmed significantly. "Waking... World?" Richard nodded, momentarily forgetting that the younger could not see his answer; however, the boy didn't need the confirmation. His eyes swelled up with tears, and he started to sob.

Richard merely sighed and whispered some well-wishes to the sobbing child in hopes he could calm him down faster. It was only then that he became hyper-aware of their situation and the burning sensation on his wrists and neck...

Cyrus found the sobbing to be far preferable; it wasn't as loud. With a sigh, he leaned back on the wall and silently thanked a god he didn't believe in for the callousness of humanity, that though people might have looked, none came to investigate. This would have been a difficult matter to clear up. He ran a hand through his hair as he looked up at the blue sky visible between the buildings. What were they going to do now..?

Richard squeezed the sobbing boy in his arms, trying to hush him further. Softly, he hummed a very familiar lullaby to quell the boy's anger and pain—attracting Cyrus's gaze too—and looked to the teen with a confused expression. Cyrus quickly looked away again. Of course, Richard had no idea what to do. This time period was foreign to him; he knew nothing of the modern-day world, being over nine-hundred years old... Sure, Nightmare told him some things, but it would be Cyrus who would know this millennium the best. He was only roughly fifty years old, after all.

Eventually, Theos's sobbing hushed at the lullaby, it being a sweet reminder of home. He knew that they would fall back asleep eventually, and that this was probably just part of the lucid spell that was cast upon them...

However, what sort of Visitor had the strength to breathe life into them again? To give them bodies once more? Why were they so cruel as to remind them of their humanity, their weaknesses and fears... Who would be so cruel to strip away from them the only sanctuary they had? He swore he would kill the lucid who did this to them.

Cyrus could scarcely see past the edge of the dumpster he sat near and, in a way, he was thankful for that. His heart had calmed, but he still didn't want to stand; he didn't want to move. When they moved, they would leave, and leaving meant facing everything and everyone out there, thereby cementing the reality of their situation. Shifting a bit, he wrapped his arms around his thighs. They had needs; they would have to rest, eat, drink... but perhaps a few minutes longer. Just a few more.

It felt as if the world fell silent and still, despite the busy noises around them. The trio sat quietly in the alley, all three of them not wanting to face the hell they were thrown into. However, it was unavoidable; they knew they couldn't just sit here all day. With a heavy sigh, Richard released Theos's wrists and set him down on the ground. Standing up, he walked over to Cyrus once again and offered his hand. It wasn't one of assistance, at least, not the kind he had offered previously. "We can't stay here." He knew this and knew it well. They needed to figure out what they were going to do, and fast.

Cyrus looked up at Richard and, for a moment, stared. His eyes dropped as he sighed. "I know." Taking the hand, he stood, then released it as he tied his robe shut, mildly disappointed that he didn't get the nice one from his dream, even though it would have stood out more. Then again, casting a glance at them, the others attracted enough attention as it is. At least it was still morning, so his outfit could be worse. They would need clothes, on top of everything else, but first, they would need money. As for that... Cyrus approached the edge of the alley, where every so often a person passed by. He hadn't worked a day in his life; he had no idea where to begin. Then again, charity groups existed for a reason. Surely those hadn't disappeared since he had left the Waking. "I think I know somewhere where we might be able to stay." It would also be nice to know exactly where and when they were, but that could come later.

Richard merely blinked, raising a brow. "How do you know?" As he spoke, Theos whined and attempted to stand, having a great amount of difficulty doing so. Still, he managed and also managed to make his way over to Richard—rather, he walked right into him—and instinctively started clinging to the cloth that covered him. "If he knows of a place we can stay, then there is no need to question it..." Though for a moment, he fell silent and rubbed his fingers in between the cloth Richard wore. It felt very different than the clothes he wore. He could only imagine how they looked, a trio of freaks that didn't belong in the world of the waking.

"Unless charity groups have gone extinct since I died, there should be a homeless shelter or something along those lines somewhere in this city. They existed in mine. They give beds, food, and other things to people who need them at no cost. We just have to find them." Cyrus stared out into the sun-lit street as he spoke; even if Theos had dismissed the question, he felt it was worth an explanation.

Richard listened, and raised his brow again. There were now groups dedicated to such a thing? He couldn't help but to smile; it seems that the world really _was_ slowly getting better...

"... How ridiculous do we appear in comparison to the Visitors?" Theos simply had to ask. Richard blinked and merely shrugged, but Cyrus half-turned and grimaced.

"Let's not worry about that now,” answered Richard. “Where to, Cyrus?"

Cyrus's eyes flicked to Richard at the recommendation, and he too decided to remain silent on the matter. Theos would probably only throw a fit and complain about it anyway. He turned back to the outside. Chewing his bottom lip a little, he answered, "There's a chance someone on the street might know the way, but more likely, they could point us in the direction of a library, where we could at least get some water and find out exactly where we need to go. Either way, we need to ask." And that was a task he was not volunteering for.

Richard frowned at the idea of talking to someone else, looking himself over and looking to Cyrus. "I am certain that I will scare off anyone whom I speak with..." Theos huffed, though didn't speak up. After all, he was blind; how was he supposed to ask for directions? It seemed ridiculous.

Cyrus gave off a slight groan; he had really been hoping Richard would have stepped up. Unfortunately, his justification made sense: Cyrus was the most presentable of the three. He would just have to suck it up. Taking a breath, he walked out.

It took a couple of tries, but he soon returned to the others, smiling faintly. "We got lucky. We're just a few blocks away from the shelter. Let's go." Turning, he walked down the street, expecting them to follow.

Richard smiled. "Well, there's some luck in our favor!" Theos only whined and clung onto Richard, the sound making Cyrus pause and look back. With a small sigh, Richard patted the boy's head and took one of his hands into his. "Come on now, I won't let you bump into anyone, or any thing. Come on..." It took a lot of convincing, but eventually Theos started to move, lightly trembling. He didn't exactly trust Richard completely, but he was the closest thing to a friend he had in a long time. With him moving, Cyrus started walking again. Richard and Theos followed him, avoiding the questioning glances that were thrown at them.

Cyrus walked slightly hunched over, hands in his pockets, and kept his gaze steadily on the ground, only glancing up every so often to make sure they were on the right track. The city degraded in quality slightly, and he found himself stepping around a bit of broken glass once, but they soon arrived, having turned a couple corners and crossed a couple streets. It was a modest building with a sign over the door that said: 'Caring Hands Shelter'. Cyrus paused to read it. "This is it." He went inside to the scent of eggs and the murmur of people. Richard and Theos followed suit, both of them wincing from the odd scent of the place. Even with the people here, Theos and Richard stood out like sore thumbs. Theos whined, trembling a little as he clung onto Richard's hand tightly as they followed Cyrus where ever he decided to go. They both had no idea what to do...

Cyrus glanced back at them and sighed, feeling as lost as they looked. He had never been in one of these places; he had no idea what he was doing. Which, of course, meant talking to more people. A survey of the area showed a grouping of tables where people were sitting an eating taking up most of the space; on one wall there was a counter, and across from it, taking up the entirety of the other wall, was a line leading up to an area of hustle and bustle where the food was being made and served. He approached the man at the end of the line and briefly conversed with him, learning how to get food and shelter, and thanked him before turning back to the other two. "Stand in line here. I'm going to go reserve our beds, alright?"

Richard raised a brow. "Stand... In line?" The aroma of food finally hit him, making his mouth water. He looked over to where the food was and whined; his body deprived of food and proper nutrition. He almost walked right over to it to stuff his face, but Theos kept him at bay. "Do not get ahead of yourself; we don't know anything about this place... It is probably for the best that we listen to Cyrus." Cyrus had almost moved to grab Richard too, but it had proven unnecessary; he nodded to Theos's words. Richard could only groan in protest, his stomach growling loudly. "But... The food..."

Shaking his tiny head, Theos gave Richard a slap to his arm. "Later. Stand in line like he said." With a groan of defeat, Richard finally took his place in line with Theos still clinging onto his hand.

"You get food when you reach the front of the line," offered Cyrus, causing Richard to perk right back up; he grinned and nodded, eager to get in the front of the line to obtain some food. The aroma was slowly getting to him, but luckily, Theos was able to smack him when he swayed a little bit out of line. While they waited, Cyrus walked over to the counter, where spoke with the woman manning it. Soon, he returned with a few small pieces of paper and a newspaper. "If anyone asks, we're brothers. I reserved our beds, but Theos is going to have to share with one of us since he's so small. We only got two."

Richard nodded. "I will take him, then." He knew how Cyrus was from his memories; he expected that sharing a bed with Theos would make him very uncomfortable. The gesture earned him a small, appreciative smile from Cyrus; his expectation was correct. The teen might never have gotten to sleep with the child in his bed. The thought of an empty bed, however, made Cyrus's heart lurch for the only one he'd found worthy of sharing that space, his cat, now surely long dead. His smile disappeared, and he quickly shook off the thought as he stuck the paper slips in his pocket. Richard was happy to see Cyrus smile, but he frowned when Cyrus did, about to ask what had happened, but decided not to bring it up. He could probably talk to him later if he needed to.

Theos merely groaned, not approving of the thought of sharing a bed, but it was a lot better than sleeping on the streets. Richard smiled and patted Theos on his head as they waited on line for food.

Cyrus turned his attention to the newspaper, scanning the top and announcing his discovery, "The year is 2013, and we're in..." His voice died away as he read the town's name again. "my hometown," he murmured, a tinge of disbelief touching him. He hadn't even recognized it.

At the announcement of the year, Richard's face paled. The year in which he died was 1189. "W-Wow... That's... a long time..."

Theos didn't seem phased, but he did squeeze Richard's hand ever so slightly. "In your old home town, too... Though, that does make sense. You were the last to become fragmented, after all." Richard wasn't sure how he felt about the child being so blunt and open like that...

Cyrus nodded. Theos's comment did make sense, but that didn't diminish his sudden sense of displacement. "I didn't recognize it," he repeated, now aloud. Much had changed, and it would be foolish to expect that it would have stayed the same. That thought didn't help much either. He opened the paper a bit further, now browsing the headlines until they reached the front of the line.

Theos merely shrugged. "People change. Places change." That was his final remark before they finally reached the front of the line. Richard's stomach growled furiously as he looked over the food, he was just ready to snatch it all up and devour it; however, he kept himself in check. With a bit of a whine, he just decided to imitate whatever the others were doing; that way, he could get food and not look like a nut-job. Since Theos was blind, Richard repeated the process for him before waiting for Cyrus.

Those before the trio merely took the plate when it was offered and thanked the young man who had been assigned to handing them out. "Have a good day with your son, sir," he greeted with a smile as Richard and Theos exited the line before turning his attention to Cyrus, who folded his paper under his arm before taking the plate. He did not thank the man before he walked away, already honed in on a small table where they could sit.

"S-Son?" The word made Richard fluster up. "H-He's not—" It was too late, Cyrus was on the move to a small table. With a sigh, Richard lead the younger fragment over to the table, and helped him sit down in front of his plate before settling down himself. The smell of the food got to him, and he quickly shoved a fork full into his mouth. He didn't care for the taste; it was food. His stomach demanded nutrition. In a matter of seconds, Richard's plate was cleaned off. Though even so, his stomach still growled, demanding more. Groaning, his shoulders sunk and he buried his head in his arms. He would just have to make due; unless Cyrus gave him the a-okay to get more food...

Theos, however, was having a hard time finding the food on his plate and an even harder time finding his mouth with the fork. His cheeks grew red when he accidentally stabbed himself in his nose, and he whimpered helplessly.

The whimper called Richard out from his arms, now finally noticing the other's difficulty. Smiling, he silently took the boy's hand. "Need some help there?" At first, the boy hissed, stubborn and prideful, and tried again to feed himself, but again failed. Shaking his head with a small smile, Richard took the fork from Theos's hand. "Don't embarrass yourself anymore; let me help. Otherwise," He took a napkin off of his own plate and wiped Theos's face with it. "You will be wearing your food instead of eating it! Now, open up~!" Though he growled, Theos eventually obeyed. Unlike Richard, whom just wolfed down his food, Theos carefully observed it's texture and taste. Not recognizing it, he hesitated to swallow. "Is this even food..?"

Cyrus paid virtually no attention to the spectacle of Richard and Theos, lost in his own train of thought. He did hear the question, however, and offered an answer: "It's scrambled eggs and potatoes." He didn't wolf down his food like Richard, nor did he take the time to savor it like Theos. He picked at it a bit, nudging it around and only taking a bite every so often. His mind was obviously somewhere else. Besides, he wasn't that hungry anyway. When his plate was half-cleared, he paused, put down his fork, and stood. "I'll be right back," he announced, then without waiting for a response, strode away.

Richard watched as the other boy left, blinking a few times. Though he wanted to say something, he wasn't sure. Where was he going? Narrowing his brows, he shook his head and grumbled. Though, he eyed Cyrus's unfinished plate of food, and his stomach growled. Shifting his gaze from the left to the right, he grinned and stabbed his own fork into one of the potatoes left over. It was gone in a matter of seconds.

Theos was done with his food, and he sighed as he just sat there. "What do we do now..?" he asked.

On the other end of the shelter, a brief conversation had Cyrus in a back room, staring at the keypad of a payphone that had been rendered a free service. The receiver buzzed in his ear. He had only ever memorized two phone numbers in his lifetime; at least, only two that actually led to people. He couldn't explain the impulse that drove him to do this; it was an indescribable /need/, a morbid curiosity. His trembling fingers hovered over the keys for a moment, then quickly he dialed in the first number. The hand came down to clutch the cord as it rang. A voice began. He inhaled.  
  
"I'm sorry, but this number has been disconnected..."  
  
He exhaled. The robotic voice kept talking, and he couldn't help but be relieved, even if a touch of sadness accompanied it. He didn't know what he would have done if Amadeus had answered, but it would have been nice to know he was there. It seemed he had moved on in the last forty years. No surprise. It still would have been nice. He hung up the receiver then brought it back to his ear. He didn't give himself the chance to hesitate before he dialed the other number.  
  
/Ring, ring, ring.../  
  
This time, the voice of an elderly woman replaced the robotic one. "Hello?" she asked.  
  
If Cyrus didn't know the voice so well, he might not have recognized it. He froze. He could scarcely breathe.  
  
"Is anyone there?"  
  
His eyes narrowed, black rage and resentment bubbling up inside him, as fresh as the day he died, and he let out one heavy breath before slamming the phone back down on the hook. Of course. Of course nothing had changed with /her/. It had been a long time since he had visited her dreams. Tonight, he would have to change that. Turning on his heel, he left the room, but paused outside of the door and closed his eyes. He forced his expression to relax and tried to tuck his anger away until he could actually do something about it and handle the strain. Appearing semi-calm once again, he rejoined the others at the table, though as he sat, he raised a brow at his plate. Hadn't there been food here when he left? It didn't matter. He wasn't hungry anyway.

Richard wasn't so easily fooled; as soon as Cyrus returned to the table, he knew something was terribly wrong. Though he frowned, he didn't press for answers. Cyrus would eventually tell him, he felt, if it was important enough. Richard sighed and merely played with the crumbs on his plate for a little while. In the silence, Cyrus glanced between the two others, trying to push the results of his phone calls out from his mind. What were they going to do now? Suddenly, though, Richard stood. His face was twisted with a frown. "I will return tonight," he muttered and, without another word, was out the front door.

Cyrus looked up at the announcement, his brows pulled together, but he merely nodded. Richard could be an airhead, but he knew what he was doing when he got serious. Hopefully, he wouldn't fall for any of the modern world's pitfalls; Cyrus was in no mood to fight with him on this, so he merely hoped for the best. Which just left him and Theos. For a few moments, he stared at the child across from him, then gathered up their plates and stood, taking Theos's hand. "We're going for a walk." It was not a question. "We'll meet up with Richard later."

 

 


	4. Second Night: Cyrus

A grin twisted Cyrus’s face as he landed upon the stones of the Dream Gate. He was home. He scarcely needed to think of it; his form twisted back into the darker one he had designed the previous night as he raised his hand—and blasted the actual gates off of the entrance. The wrought nests of metal went flying, cutting and crumpling into the stone of the staircases  across the island. He had power again.

Crouching, he leapt up into the air with all the superhuman force his new legs would allow and bounced off one of the pillars the gates once hung  from to crush one of the heads of the fountain’s dolphins and land in the water, a crack stretching out from his point of contact. He hopped out of the water onto the fountain’s edge and, with slow deliberate steps, walked along it. With a single sweep of his hand, he felled five trees, allowing them to tumble upon the ruins of the Doors and dip into the fountain. He flicked a few fingers in the opposite direction, and a wave of destruction flowed out: It tore gashes in the cobblestones and ripped up the grass; one of the longer reaching threads scarred a tree.

Here, he wasn’t pained by a defective heart nor flawed bones; he could devour whatever he pleased, and he was not subject to the mercy of pathetic humans. Free of that skin and all its burdens, here, he could become whatever and whomever he pleased; his wishes were at his fingertips. He was a god once more, or at least, a part of one. He was conscious of the fact that he was not whole, but that didn’t matter. Neither did the fact that the Dream Gate, given enough time, had a nasty habit of repairing itself. He was home, and all one need do to see that was look around.

Or rather, he was close to home. Having had his fun with more grandiose displays, he went to the edge of the Dream Gate, leaving cracked, dead trees and grass in his wake, and peered down into the Dark Ocean. He could still feel his connection to his realm, but it was faint and weak; he certainly couldn’t tell the state of it like he usually could. That would require a closer investigation, something he could only do from the safety and quiet of his chambers.

He didn’t give his leap into the black sea a second thought.

He doubted anyone would interfere with his journey. He had no Ideya to attract the attention of his ‘marens, and clearly, they were rather incompetent in keeping Visitors out of his chambers as it was. If one did happen to cross his path… Well, he would deal with that as it came.

Cyrus had made it to his chambers safely and without interference. Good. Just the way he wanted. As he approached his chamber doors, however,he paused. What was that?

Though shielded by his hood, his eyes narrowed, and his lip curled with disgust. Was that gum? Had some Nightmaren dare to defile his chamber doors by sticking gum on it? How disgusting. The fact that the gum held a note was no redeeming factor. With a flick of his fingers toward him, he brought the note to him and turned the gum to ash. He clasped his hands behind his back as his eyes flicked over the contents of Chamelan’s note.

His eyes narrowed, and the note crumpled into a ball. He snatched it from the air and threw it into his chambers, not caring if it fell into the unknowable void below, before following suite; he took a couple steps in before leaping to his throne in a single bound. The doors to his chambers slammed shit behind him.

Dammit.

Dammit!

Another first level lost; why was it so hard to keep the damn things under control? Chamelan’s claim of Reala’s intentions meant nothing. Cyrus sunk back in his seat. He would have to keep a close eye on Selph and Strato, but hopefully, they were made better. He couldn’t count on anything, though; even the second levels would probably have to be scrutinized. He couldn’t afford any more flaws in the system.

Clenching his hands into fists, he released a breath and tried to release his tension. He tried once more. This would have to be something he discussed with the others when he saw them again. For now, another matter lay before him. His purple eyes began to glow, so bright to pierce even the shadows of his hood, and so did the purple markings upon his hands. He reached out, and thus tapped into the very infrastructure of Nightmare. His one true home.

 


End file.
